


need a hand?

by Laeana



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Feels, Friends With Benefits, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Love Confessions, M/M, Rivalry, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:14:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28223001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laeana/pseuds/Laeana
Summary: “Isn't it hard to be single once again ? I mean, at 21, you’re sexually active, no pun intended ?”Where Charles breaks up with his girlfriend and Pierre offers some help.
Relationships: Pierre Gasly/Charles Leclerc
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	need a hand?

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Need a hand ?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20909582) by [Laeana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laeana/pseuds/Laeana). 



“Need a hand ?”

Charles stares in frustration at Pierre who, leaning against the doorframe, gives him a beguiling smile. No, he was not expected to come to his house and, no, let alone hear about his breakup with his girlfriend.

To understand, the two have always been close, very enterprising towards each other, their rivalry first in karting and then in F1, although lessened, adding more to this spark between them.

However ... however, he always wanted to put rules between them. They wouldn't go further than that. Sloppy kisses from time to time, when the rush, the race got them too nervous, left them full of energy. No time for sweetness, no time for love.

Then he ended up having a girlfriend and then it all went wild. The Frenchman seemed to move away and he, refusing to lose him, offered himself more. It has never been very healthy between them and they have fully embraced it at this level. They don’t even care.

So yes, he broke up with his girlfriend, although she was very nice, beautiful, adorable, perfect. Because he wanted to focus on his career and other things, not having those kinds of distractions anymore.

Which is certainly difficult with the older one by his side.

“Isn't it hard to be single once again ? I mean, at 21, you’re sexually active, no pun intended ?”

He bites his lip, turning crimson as he already imagines the curve of the other pilot's body through his clothes. 22, he will soon be 22 !

“You're only a year older than me !”

Pierre shrugs his shoulders with that smirk that frustrates him and gently brushes him with his pretty blue eyes.

“Well, I take that for a no then.”

And so his interlocutor turns away, damn it, he turns away to go to the living room, leaving him moaning, half hard in his jeans. 

He never wanted to admit it but he always had the best orgasms with his friend, the latter buried deep inside him.

He catches up with him, moving into the next room in turn, sighing to try to calm himself down. He needs to collect his thoughts.

“What are you doing here ? You had no reason to see me.” he asks, because he needs to know.

“What ? Wasn't I allowed to just want to visit a loved one ?”

“Even said like that, it doesn’t seem trivial.”

He doesn’t miss how the Frenchman now begins to stare nervously at the ground, content to play with his watch, a bit hesitant.

“It wasn't, it's true. I wanted to tell you something but it will wait.” his friend admits, simply.

“Wasn't that important ?”

“I …”

Words die on the Toro Rosso's driver lips even as their gazes meet. Blue against green. Always. He needs it to be faster.

“Yes or no ?”

“Yes. For me at least.”

The hesitation seems to have finally relieved the man who faces him and who pronounces without sparing him, almost coldly.

“I want us to stop this. Our relationship ... carnal at least. You are my friend, nothing can change that. What we experienced. But I can't stand it any longer.”

A deal. Clean and precise. He always thought it would protect them from this kind of situation. He apparently messed up and beautifully.

“You want us to stop completely ? All ?” he blinks, with difficulty.

“Yes ?”

“But why ?”

Pierre puts on a little more gentleness, choosing his words as if he was leading an internal fight.

“Because you hurt me, sweetheart. You and your damn ambitions, your words that you never remember, your feelings that you come to drown with me, by me. That hurts me.”

And he can see in the ocean irises pain and sorrow, accompanied by deep loneliness. An emotion that, he knows, he caused.

“It hurts me because you're not mine. No matter how badly I want it.”

Charles's eyes widen.

“You want me ?”

His friend nods shyly, uncertain. He takes a deep breath, absorbing the information with difficulty. 

“Look, I'll leave you. I know it's not reciprocated after everything that's happened, don't worry.”

The Frenchman turns away, striding towards the door. He emits a strangled noise because, in an instant, this scene overlaps one that took place a few weeks earlier. 

* * *

“It's not something I want to talk about.”

“Look, Charles, it's just-”

“You'll rank no matter where at the end of the day and blame anyone or your car, but don't come talk to me about ambitions. You can't understand my frustration, you don't understand anything at all !”

Pierre's blue irises turn to steel, cold, an undisguised pain very present in their background. He knows he went too far in talking about their races, their performances. He knows that it is not a subject to broach when his lover is like that, so unstable, insecure of himself.

He saw those wounds appearing and disappearing randomly on the body of the other pilot, over time. Scars left by people sometimes, memories that had so much to say but to which he was so deaf.

This is it ? Does he not stand that his companion is so weak ? Or is the answer elsewhere ? It’s surely too easy to determine. He can't stand him being hurt, to hurt him.

Perhaps, with a minimum of hindsight, he would have realized his selfishness, his recently won first place and his second place, not insignificant, with which his impatience makes him annoyed.

The Frenchman narrows his eyes, taking a deep breath, as if to calm down, to avoid hitting him or bursting into tears, he never knows, and turns around.

“I’m gonna leave you. I think we have nothing more to say to each other. Surely you have a podium to celebrate.”

He doesn't have time to ask his childhood friend to stay, to apologize, for the door to slam. The echo returns to him, growing in the silence, making him feel how alone he is. A solitude that no medal, trophy, can fill. And at that moment, he also realizes how much he screwed up.

* * *

His hand rests on Pierre's wrist. Damn, he's so uncertain. Nervous. He almost feels like a teenager again. But he puts his lips on his. The kiss is simple, perfect in fact.

It's distinctive. They've kissed so many times already though, now it really makes sense. This is not to satisfy sloppy cravings. He tries to convey all his feelings there. 

When their exchange ends, they both step back. The Toro Rosso driver has red cheeks but he is sure to be in the same condition.

“Charles, you-”

“Forgive me. I always forget. You are so fragile sometimes. I'm always afraid of breaking you, I keep hurting you. I never know how to measure my words with you, I'm impulsive …”

Lost in the azure ocean in front of him, the words seem to slip out of his lips by themselves. Finally.

“I'm glad you're here now. I'm glad you told me all that. Because it couldn't go on like this, it's true.”

He swallows.

“I hated hurting you in Singapore, I don't even understand why you forgave me. And at the same time I'm glad you did. I didn't know what to tell you, how to right my wrongs and-”

“I love you.”

Charles almost jumps at these words because they are so direct, precise. He never expected it. Yet the answer is already there, etched deep within him.

“That's why I forgave you, sweetheart. It might not be the right thing to do, but I didn't want to be far from you. It's impossible for me.”

“But I love you too.”

Pierre blinks repeatedly, equally surprised at himself and how easily he spoke.

“You ... is that true ?”

He rolls his eyes. Still.

“Kiss me, idiot.”

It doesn't take more for his lover to do it. Their tongues intertwine and the arms of his French wrap around his waist as naturally as possible. He heaves a sigh of relief, more than relieved to be in the arms of the one he loves.

His boyfriend, a teasing look on his face, then takes advantage of their posture to come and whisper in his ear :

“So, need a helping hand ?”

**Author's Note:**

> wait ... was it one of my first piarles ? Probably x)
> 
> I just feel like I can't really finish my bigger projects, I'm still writing on them so I provide you some smaller contents ... not new, but at least translated.  
> Hope you liked it !
> 
> tumblr : laeana


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